Fog
by AnonymouslyAddicted
Summary: Set after Hard Rain. Depressing, beware.


**A/N** : I always have plans that never turn out the way I want them. Ah, story of my life. Anyway, I asked, you said you'd read, so now here you go. Holls was much much of a help as always. Warning: depressing shit ahead of you. For anyone who missed it – this is taking place after the end of Hard Rain, but also after the whole groping thing. Sort of combined my world into the show's world (or is it the other way around?) So, as you said you'd read, now you gotta leave comments, because you know, I'm needy. Thanks!

* * *

 **Fog**

 _After the rain there was fog. A thin layer of low clouds suspended in the air right above the ground. A vast blanket that hung heavy, suffocating every building and every tree at their base, swallowing every distant object and vanishing around every corner. Spreading like a beast with no arms and legs, an amorphous with no end nor a beginning. Threatening, terrifying. But still. And quiet._

Elizabeth could hear her heart pounding. The rapid beat, threatening to burst from her chest. She felt her legs weak, barely holding her weight. She couldn't fall, not this time. _Move_. She stood still, only her mind racing a mile per second. Her eyes landed on him. _That…_ His nose was bleeding and he was still too stunned to do anything. This was her time. She could escape. Her security agents were standing outside. Blake was standing outside. She wasn't alone. She just had to run for the door and escape. _Don't stay here_. He moved then. Probably looked for something to stop the bleeding, but he was getting closer to her. She couldn't let him get closer to her. Acting on instinct, her foot took one step backwards. And then another one, and another one. She nearly stumbled before she finally gained the ability to move again, to get her legs to cooperate with her mind. With quick steps and the sounds of her heels, she was almost running to the door. Pushing it wide open, she fell into the arms of Matt, her arms gripping his for support. They all gathered around her, unaware that she was feeling trapped as it was, that they were only scaring her more. Matt help her tight, pulling her back to her feet before holding her gaze. _Something happened_.

"Move!" he shouted into his microphone, but really to everyone standing next to them. Elizabeth couldn't remember much of what happened next. She somehow found herself in the back seat of her car, driving the streets of Manila, the view of the city unravelling before her. Matt kept glancing at the rearview mirror, looking for any physical evidence to what might have happened to her. He exchanged looks with Blake, but neither of them spoke.

She was in her room now. Her heels were left scattered somewhere between the door and the chair she was now accommodating. She stared at her hands, they kept shaking, still feeling the pain of the punch she threw. Running her fingers over her knuckles, she hissed a little, drawing Blake's attention to her. By now, everyone knew that she punched Andrada, but the reason why still remained unknown. Blake approached her carefully, looking to get her attention, her recognition to his presence, before moving any closer.

"Ma'am." His voice was soft, hesitant. She looked at him with big blue eyes and he had to force himself to stay in place. "Ma'am," He tried again, clearing his throat. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Take me home."

Blake nodded and excused himself as he left her alone in the room to get everything ready to leave. She was alone then. All alone. _What if_ … She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was startled by the buzzing of her phone, breaking the silence in the room.

 _Henry_. "Yeah," She answered.

"Babe, hi, I'm sorry to interrupt, I know you must be busy but I have a quick question."

She rubbed her temple and exhaled. "Yes."

"Elizabeth?" Henry's voice changed in an instant. It was light when he first called, hurried maybe. Now it was calculated, it was slow. He was worried. He figured her out from the other end of the globe.

"Yes, I'm listening." She knew she wasn't fooling him. He was far too smart, he knew her far too well.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Henry rushed over to the remote to turn the TV on. How was it even possible that he missed the news? Of course, it's not like she was in any danger going to the Philippines, but still. He was thrilled that the only thing playing on the news channel was some talk show. Nothing happened. Nothing that was life threatening. And yet, she was mute on the other end of the line, and Henry knew her better than anyone else and something must've happened.

"Ma'am, we are ready," Blake announced as he walked into the room.

Elizabeth nodded, and with great effort, managed to stand up. She wasn't physically hurt. Except for her hand, nothing _really_ hurt. But her legs felt so heavy, she could barely carry them, and the fatigue was quickly taking over. Yet every time she closed her eyes, images that were long gone appeared again and she refused to get sucked back into it. "Henry, I'm sorry, I have to go. I will see you soon."

She didn't give him the chance to protest, to mention that she never replied to his question. He was left staring at the dark screen of his phone once the call was disconnected. She didn't even bother to lie. She could've lied and say that she was alright. But she hung up. She couldn't talk, and Henry was wondering if it was because she wasn't alone or because she was unable to say the words out loud. Either way, it was bad enough to have him worried sick about her.

Sinking to the couch, he rubbed his eyes before typing a text. "I know I'm 9,000 miles away, but I am still your haven. Talk to me."

Elizabeth settled in her seat, pulling the blanket over her head, before she reached for her phone. It'd been an hour since he sent the text, but he didn't call or send another text. He was giving her space, allowing her to dictate the pace of things. This is how it had been ever since. Yet, she knew he spent the past hour staring at his phone and waiting impatiently for her to reply.

"He groped me." She watched the letters appear on the screen after pressing 'send', and her eyes welled with tears. _He violated me_. _Again_.

With shaking fingers, Henry opened the text and stared at the words, He didn't know what to say. He was away, and he failed to protect her yet again, and in spite of all the progress she made, they might be back in square one. He didn't know how she would react to his presence once she was back, how she would welcome his touch. He didn't know if she was already having the nightmares taunting her, if she told anyone. He knew nothing but the fact that another man thought it was his right to do something to her against her will.

"I love you." His text was simple, but it was all he could come up with at the moment. All he could come up with from where he was, so far away from her.

It was long past midnight when he heard the front door open. Standing from his seat near his desk, he rushed over to her only to slow down to a halt the minute he laid eyes on her. This vision of her was somewhat of a long lost memory – an image he was well acquainted with, in spite of all the time that passed since. He used to see it sometimes, when she'd wake with nightmares or when she was staring into space and he knew that her mind was traveling places. But this, now, it wasn't just a dream or a memory. It was yet another thing that happened to her, another reason for her to look just the way she did. He didn't have any trick up his sleeve for this. He never thought anything like this could happen again. Being religious, he always told himself that she suffered enough, that she had done no harm and therefore should not be punished; not anymore. And if that was a test, they were still struggling every single day to get past it, and he wouldn't want to ever be put to this test again.

He took another step closer when she didn't move, and another one when she looked at him. She blinked back her tears and nodded. He closed the gap between them, his hands resting gently on her arms. He placed a kiss to her temple, feeling her delicate skin against his warm lips. His eyes were on hers again and he could see that she hadn't cried yet — that she was still in shock. So he took her hand in his with the intention of leading her to their bedroom, where he could unravel the damage, where he could get her to wash off whatever it was that she was feeling. But a loud gasp and a pull of her hand made him step backwards. _She was hurt_.

"Show me."

Carefully, she offered him her hand and he saw the bruises that decorated her skin, the shades of purple and blue in contrast of her white skin. "Did you punch him?" his eyes widened with surprise; he knew these bruises by heart.

She nodded and he smiled, feeling prouder than ever that she stood up for herself. "Let me get you some ice for this."

She hissed when he pressed the towel to her hand, but eased when his thumb rubbed her skin. "Did you break his nose?"

"I might've," She spoke, and it was the first time he'd heard her voice. "There was blood."

"That should teach this asshole a lesson."

Elizabeth nodded before turning away from him. It would teach him a lesson, but what did that do to her? How would this affect her? What were the consequents of what _he_ had done to her?

"Elizabeth," Henry called her name for the third time and she finally met his gaze. "Don't shut me out."

"I have nothing to say." She stood then, taking the ice from his hand and making her way towards the stairs.

After a moment's thought, he decided to follow her, closing the bedroom door behind him as he walked inside. "You must have _something_ to say."

She hadn't realized she had so much anger bottled up until those words left his mouth. And it wasn't like she was angry at him, he did nothing wrong. But he happened to be in her way, and she couldn't stop what was coming. She crossed her arms and marched towards him. "I have plenty to say," she spat, narrowing her eyes. "I hate how men think they are entitled – how _you_ think you are entitled." She pointed at his chest, raising her voice, "Entitled to know what I feel, what I want, what I need. Entitled to my body, to my mind, to every damn second of my life!" she tossed her sweater across the room, moving closer so that she was inches from his face. "You think you are better than him, better than Vladimir…" Laughing bitterly, she shook her head. "Because you never _touched_ me against my will." She saw him swallow hard, and the hurt was evident on his face and he recoiled from her icy tone, but she wasn't finished. "But it's okay for you to force your thoughts on me, is it? To force me to speak when I don't want to. _That_ … is just as bad, and _just_ as against my will as groping my ass." Turning away from him, she moved to get into bed. It didn't matter what he thought in the moment, she didn't want to see his face. "I always wanted to believe you are not one of those guys. But you are all just the same, aren't you? Same fucked up manufacturing." Rolling onto her side she turned her back to him. She was done talking.

Henry knew better than to fight back, he knew better than to play along with this. But her comparing him to the man who raped her, or to the man who groped her, he couldn't sit back and listen to her accusing him like this. They had been through a living hell, and he was there for her for every step of the way. How could she possibly think that he was anything like _them_? How could she possibly accuse him of forcing her to do anything? Of forcing himself on her?

Henry made his way to their bed, pulling the covers off of her. "I never, once, forced you to do anything against your will. Never!" he shouted and he could see that his voice startled her. "Hearing you accusing me of forcing myself on you, or of harming you…" He paused, taking a moment to consider her words again, his hands closed into fists. "Hearing you accusing me of _raping_ you!" tears chocked him as he let the words out in the open. "I have to wonder if our relationship _ever_ meant anything to you! Was my love for you ever something you considered welcomed, or just a turn of events?!"

He was at the door when she sat and gave him one final look. "Your love for me, as it turns out, was nothing more than a love of power, of the fact you have this little woman you can control."

He slammed the door behind him and left her to stand in their bedroom alone. He knew she was upset, that she probably didn't mean any of the things she said. She had just been through something terrible, and it was bound to wake up the sleeping dragon. But the words hit hard, and as much as he tried to convince himself that she didn't really think that, doesn't really _feel_ that, the pain was building inside of him, anger bubbling.

Elizabeth let out a breath. She stared at her hands and noticed, for the first time that night, that they were shaking. She could hear her heart pounding now that the room was silent. She hasn't heard it since she left the room where Andrada was, blocking out this sound. Any sound. She wanted to close her eyes, to fall into a blissful sleep where nothing would threaten her. But the minute she allowed her eyes to fall shut, there they were. Vladimir, who never stopped haunting her in her dreams, and now him, both of them standing together, threatening her with just their presence. She glanced at the empty bed next to her, and wondered if he ever made her feel the way they did; if he ever pushed her to a corner she saw no way out of.

She was asleep then, the fatigue was stronger than her mind. But this sleep did not quench her thirst. She tossed and turned all night, dreaming of running and running with no purpose or an end. She felt her tired legs as they stumbled and failed to carry her, and with a gasp she awoke to the dark room. Her blouse was damp and a bruise with fresh blood decorated her arm. She walked over to the sink to wash the wound, scrubbing over and over again, the red drops painting the sink and the bruise was deeper and bigger. The pain was real now, physical. It was no longer in her mind, it was vivid. So she kept on going, her fingernails digging into her skin, drawing more blood. With the water running, she didn't hear him come in and it wasn't until he pushed her hands aside that she noticed his presence. She tried to fight back, to release herself from the grip of his hands, but he restrained her, he wouldn't allow her to hurt herself.

"Let me go!" she yelled, and Henry was quite certain even her detail downstairs heard her scream. He didn't care. He knew he wasn't hurting her, that it was just the anger. He felt it too; he felt like hitting someone, breaking something. And maybe, if he hadn't loved her this much, he would've done just that.

He pulled her back to the room, releasing his hold and pushing her down to the bed. He walked back to the bathroom and she made an attempt to stand up again when he turned to look at her. "Sit down," He ordered and he scared her with the harsh tone.

Henry never made her be scared of him. He never treated her like he could actually _hurt_ her. Then again, didn't she accuse him of just that, only a few hours earlier? She pulled away when he sat next to her, trying to distance herself from him. He took her arm and began to wrap the bandage over her wound, and his touch was delicate, gentle. She watched carefully as his hands moved slowly, as the dressing absorbed the blood. She waited for him to wipe the tear that slid down her cheek, but Henry stood and paced towards the door, leaving her behind.

"Henry." She whispered, her tears chocking her. She wondered where all the anger went; when was it replaced by the overwhelming feeling, by the helplessness and the loneliness.

He turned around to face her, and tears welled in his eyes as well. "Stay," she pleaded. "Please." Her voice was soft now, and she sounded frightened, but not of him. He didn't want to stay; he couldn't stay, not after what she said to him. But her hands were shaking and her lip was trembling and he loved her _too much_ to leave her alone.

Sitting next to her, he took her hand in his and never said a word. The screams and accusations were replaced by silent tears they both shed, louder than any word either of them spoke.

It was when the dawn broke, that she made her way to the shower and he didn't follow. With a towel wrapped around her figure, she walked back into the room to find the note he left for her. "I am not like _them_. I never will be. And this is not your fault."

Leaning against the window frame, she watched as the fog began to clear, clearing the way to the new ray of sun that this new day brought with it.


End file.
